


red roses - act two

by skitty_titty



Series: the story of the rose [2]
Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, rated teen & up for swearing/violence/the occasional sex joke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitty_titty/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: food for thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WORK CURRENTLY ON HIATUS
> 
>  
> 
> warnings:  
> -mild injuries  
> -a brief mention of that weird slab of skin thing from doctor who im so sorry  
> -mohan ghale

here’s another common misconception in the world: soulmates always work out. 

ajay has been set free in the world, but both amita and sabal have told him to radio them if he has any problems. he knows they’re in a time of war, but he likes to think it’s out of worry for him rather than losing him as an asset. it’s nice to feel loved.

sabal had also mentioned something, before he left banapur village for the final time, that mohan ghale had written diaries. though he wasn’t sure of how many there were, sabal had found one already, and gladly handed it over. ajay said he would search for more. sabal wished him luck.

from it, ajay learns that his mother was a previous tarun matara (he always did see a goddess in her), and that they truly were in love, willing to fight against some of the more religious who say that their soulmate bond should have remained platonic.

from it, he learns that his father himself was a royal guard, with proper uniform and proper guns; it’s a weird thought. he’s never been told anything about his father, not even a name, and suddenly, there’s so much information that he doesn’t know what to do.

so, of course, he looks for more information that will blow his mind.

 

* * *

 

amita and sabal are arguing, is what bhadra tells him. he’s sat on top of a building at a now-golden path outpost, legs swinging, as he listens to what bhadra relays to him. she sounds bored, a little bit sad, and she adds, at the end, how she misses him. he promises to swing by once he’s sorted the spat out.

he asks for the radio to be passed to amita. he hates that he’s picking intel over lives, but amita is right when she says something bigger is coming. ajay can feel it, too, in his bones; a weird sort of sixth sense.

she tells him to go to a place called the ‘alpha camp’ and gives the approximate coordinates of where it is. when he arrives, he finds soldiers dead and animals that are controlled by the enemy, which is really fucking terrifying, in ajay’s eyes. he doesn’t like to put them down, but what’s done is done.

there’s a weird mist over the land, too, as if whoever controls the land decided that this area was too sad and needed to be cloaked, a thick blanket that makes it hard to see more than a few feet in front of you. it seems to be close to night time, even if it was barely noon before he walked into the camp. there’s an uneasy aura here, pals. 

he walks around, scanning for the dead bodies of allies. there’s lots of blood, over their corpses, over their clothes, and ajay is glad that he was never queasy to the sight of it. he searches for intel on their person, and it feels creepily personal when he raids their pockets.

then, there’s an arrow in his shoulder.  _ shit _ .

and he didn’t even hear their footsteps. there’s a spike of fear in his chest, but it’s not his (‘holy shit’ his brain is thinking, though it’s ajay who actually moans, “oh my fucking  _ god _ .”)

there’s something on the head of that arrow, because his world is suddenly achingly bright colours and blurring at the edges, though the swaying might be from ajay’s wobbly footsteps.

whatever it was doesn’t last long, but he hears another shot fly passed him, with him only avoiding it because he fell over. he sits up quickly, returns the arrow that landed by his feet right back to the sender. he hears a nice  _ plunk! _ and that’s good enough for him (when he thinks back to this later, he thinks he probably hit a tree).

he quickly scourges the last of the intel, avoiding the louder footsteps of mind-controlled animals. his bag feels ten times heavier than it did before he came, with it being filled with books and stacks of money that he’d managed to pickpocket (again, he forces himself to not feel bad).

“amita.” he says, and suddenly, he feels so very thirsty. being drugged really takes it out of you. “i got the intel.”

“okay, ajay.” she says, a happy lilt in her tone. “now go to the  _ other _ camp and see what you can do.”

ajay’s in for a long night.

* * *

 

 

his drive to banapur feels like it takes year, despite him doing at least forty miles per hour. whilst the intel is important, he can feel his eyes starting to droop and his throat starting to scream even more (a memory of doctor who’s _'_ _ moisturize m _ _e’_ plays in ajay’s head, and he cringes). 

“here’s the intel.” he says, handing over everything he grabbed. the look on her face is enough of a thank you, so he turns and walks away before she says anything, instead searching for a fucking drink.

he heads back to the building he first slept in, and finds more than just the carton of water on the table. sabal sits there, a worried but also annoyed look in his eye.

“ah, ajay!” he says with energy, even if both of them look like they need to sleep for a year. “how did the mission go?” it sounds polite, but ajay notices the underlying irritation.

he smiles anyway, though. nods. says it was okay, when it wasn’t. he doesn’t mention the poison, or the charmed animals, which will probably scare ajay for the rest of his life, when he thinks of their soulless eyes and raging, uncontrolled snarls.

“good.” sabal says. “you’re not hurt, are you?”

ajay shrugs. “i’m okay.” they both know it’s code for  _ ‘i’m kind of hurt but it’s not that big of a medical emergency and i can fix it so don’t bother getting a doctor’ _ .

“you’re quiet.” sabal observes.

“you’re angry,” ajay replies, and starts taking off his boots. he slings his backpack by the bed (but gently, because his mother is in there) and sighs, sitting on it. “look, i’m sorry i sided with amita--”

“no, no, it’s fine.” sabal dismisses, even though it clearly isn’t.

“i sided with her because of a gut feeling--”

“i said it doesn’t matter--”

“listen to me.” ajay says, and he has to stop himself from getting angry. if there’s one thing he hates, then it’s getting cut off when he’s trying to explain himself. “i sided with amita because i agreed with her. not because i prefer her over you, or want her to be in charge of the golden path, or whatever you guys fight about.”

“i chose her because i felt it would save more lives. there’s a big attack coming, and we both know it. banapur was not it, and  _ you _ know it. i know that you guys are sworn to disagree with each other, but i won’t be dragged into it. it’s not a matter of sides, for me. it’s doing what’s right.”

ajay realises he’s been ranting, so he nods, almost nervous. he doesn’t really care what sabal says; they’re not really close enough for it to bother ajay, but he feels like he’d be sad about it anyway. he likes sabal, and trusts him, even if they just met. ajay likes to rely on vibes and auras, and sabal feels calm and exciting and  _ adventure!  _ at the same time.

“okay.” sabal starts, and he looks kind of nervous now. “sorry.” he adds, when ajay looks at him, strangely expectant.

“i just need you to know that i’m not playing favourites.” ajay says, and then yawns. “now, i’m tired. go save the world or whatever, i’m napping.”

sabal laughs at this, even if it’s slightly quieter than normal. “goodnight, ajay.” he says, voice soft.

“g’night.” ajay mumbles, already digging under the cover and snuggling into it. 

“sleep well.” ajay hears, before there’s a flick of the light switch and a soft lock clicking shut on the door.  _ ‘goodnight, kyrat’, _ ajay thinks, before passing the fuck out.

 

* * *

 

it’s morning now, and the sun is shining and the air is fresh (you know, as mornings are). it’s always slightly, ever so slightly, quieter in the mornings, as if everyone’s waiting to see who leaves their whole first (the early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese).

he asks around for where bhadra is, as she’s not allowed her own radio (which is really fucking dumb, in ajay’s eyes, and he’s considering stealing one for her). he’s told she’s at a place that is strictly for funerals, and that is confusing because bhadra is a child; he remembers that she’s the tarun matara, and a wave of pity and sorrow runs through him. he wonders, for a second, who else treats her like a normal human being, other than himself and a stranger called mr kim. 

he’s watching the fire burn into the air, its overwhelming scent making him want to cough. there’s a few people stood close to the fire, too, and ajay wonders how they can breathe. one man is crying, with loud sobs and an aching heart, with a woman curled around him, a warm hand on his shoulder, stroking back and forth. she looks old enough to be his mother, and the scene looks sad enough for ajay to feel uncomfortable upon seeing it. mourning is a private thing; or it should be, but they’re in the middle of a war. there’s too many people that ajay can’t help, and the guilt will always drown him.

“come to pay respects to the families?” a voice asks, stirring him out of his thoughts. he looks up from the fire to see bhadra’s somewhat-smiling face, as if this is the first time she’s been allowed a break all day. neither amita or sabal are with her, commanding her, so he supposes that’s where her good mood comes from. 

her hair is tied back, though badly, as a large portion of it falls back in her face. she wears a jacket over her t-shirt, even though it’s dangerously warm, but she’s rolled the sleeves up, so it’s not  _ that _ bad. she wears bracelets, too, all a different colour; ajay thinks they’re probably for symbolism or something, but he’s too distracted to ask.

“i have never seen anything like this,” he replies, voice filled with shock and what-would-be-awe if the scene wasn’t so sad.

“well, i’ve never seen anyone carry around their mother’s ashes.” bhadra hums, and ajay chuckles. both are a little strange, really. 

“yeah,” he says. and while ajay is still thinking about the past, “do you think my father’s funeral like this.”

a thoughtful look comes over her face, but he doesn’t regret asking, as bhadra is kind with her words, and strangely good at judging boundaries. “i was too young.” she says, almost regretful. “but i know his death broke the golden path.”

there’s a sound from the temple-like building that’s behind them, and bhadra starts to step back to go. “things would be different now if he’d died fighting, but he didn’t.”

“what do you mean?” ajay asks, confused. his father was a soldier, and what is the natural conclusion to draw from that?

“he was murdered,” she says, and there’s a yell which she turns to follow.

_ ‘well, this conversation was truly enlightening’,  _ he thinks. he doesn’t regret it (or maybe he does, just a little). 

 

* * *

 

he asks sabal about it later.

sabal tells him of a house on the hills, that no one goes to because of its sheer difficulty to find and it’s dangerous cliff faces, that have rolling rocks and boulders waiting to be freed.

ajay readies for the long climb ahead.

on the way, he will find a book in a cave in a hill, where he’d paused to take a break. it seems that his father had done the same thing, as there’s an untidy scrawl of “property of mohan ghale”. though most pages remain empty, or have language far too complex to understand, there is a small paragraph on one page, that’s free of diagrams, and rushed and ripped notes to and from others.

  
  


 

_ there is so much uncertainty in our future. _

_ sometimes, i catch myself wishing she wasn’t with child. as soon as i think this, i am -------- with guilt. _

_ i must remind myself that this is a good thing. i love ishwari, and the child she bears. i love that we will soon be a family. i hope that our child is born into a secure and ---------- kyrat. _

 

 

mohan drops the pen quickly, as if it scorched him. he doesn’t reread his words. he doesn’t need too. he snaps the book closed and shoves it in his bag. the fact that he can’t find it later has nothing to do with the fact that he grabbed the wrong book - don’t even ask how - and runs away as quickly as possible. he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. what’s written is classed as what is gone. it can no longer plague him. 

the walk up the hill is short, especially since he rushes up the steps. he’s greeted happily from the homestead, with a short kiss and a lingering smile. they love each other very much, which is why they kiss and share a home and hug each other like their worlds depend on it. they are soulmates, and they are meant to be together.

she is with child, because Kyra wanted it. the goddess of creation have blessed the family, blessed them with a pure life of a child, with grainy videos on a poor quality camera, and first words and first steps and first teeth. 

it isn’t that he forced himself, but he begs himself to see the good in this, rather than worry for the child and worry for his wife. 

_ ‘it’s okay’, _ he thinks.  _ ‘i love her, and i love our child. i will not allow any harm to come to them while i am living.’ _

such bitter words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter:   
>  -mild injuries (again)   
>  -nonconsensual drug use  
> -mohan ghale (again im so sorry he's. he's Like That)

the outside of the ghale homestead is beautiful. it seems like it used to be prettier, and ajay admits it looks a bit down, but he feels like he’d be able to sort it up quickly. the garden is a little overrun, but it’s still quite a pretty sight, with colours blending and sparkling, with the sunset shining gently in the distance. it’s around eight pm when he glances at his watch, but he’s so glad he climbed up to see this.

_ ‘this used to be my home’, _ he thinks.  _ ‘i might have been born here’. _

the inside of the ghale homestead - it’s a fucking mess.

the floor is covered in weird rugs, with the one by the door feeling oddly sticky. he assumes they’re what creates the funny aroma of the room. there’s a lit fire in the corner, which adds to the general ambience of the room, making it feel what-would-be-homelike but instead makes ajay worry. there are stacks of crates and boxes, and a few barrels that ajay has seen hold alcohol, usually wine. there are a few stacks of colourful clothes, but that’s about the only sign of life.

other than, of course, the two men laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the secrets of the sky. they’re talking absentmindedly, showcasing their whiteness through their british accents saying words that ajay has never heard before (british slang truly is a sight to behold).

“what, like flammable and inflammable?” a voice says, a shocked note in his tone. it’s deeper than the other high pitched noise but still carries the accent just as strong.  

“oh, shit.” the other one mumbles and one of them scramble to his feet whilst the other takes the usual cross-legged, weird hand symbol position.

the one who’s stood up spreads his arms into a cross shape (seems to be a mashup of religion, here, guys?), before bending down, flicking a switch on a stereo, and resuming position. truly professional. 

“welcome, my brother.” the one sat on the floor says, and ajay wants to put his head in his hands. “you’ve come to a place of peace, where the demons of modern life cannot reach you. you are safe here.”

it sounds practised. it also sounds like bullshit. 

the man on the floor stands up, immediately, suddenly, so terribly quick that ajay nearly shits himself as a blur runs up to his face. he doesn’t even have time to take a step back before there are hands stroking his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, with a foreign tongue spoken into his ears. 

“you seek answers.”

“for a fee.”

“of course. nothing in life is free.”

“there’s a scale in this somewhere.”

“i’m yogi.” yogi says. “and this is reggie.” he adds, mainly as an afterthought when reggie’s eyes appear distracted, staring at ajay with something you could call awe.

“but you, stranger-” ajay will take ‘stranger’ over being called ‘brother’ by weird men in his family’s house any day- “you. you’re the son of a legend!”

“wait, what?” yogi pipes up.

“i see a world of danger-” reggie starts, and yogi’s eyes widen with realisation- “a-and a mother with a blackened heart!-” now  _ that _ doesn’t sound right- “ajay ghale!”

they ask him what he’s doing here as if he’s some divine being who’s gazing upon his lowly followers’ field. he hates that metaphor just as much as he hates what people say about his mother.

“this is my parents’ house-” ajay says, voice cold and unwelcoming, a contrast to its usual happy tone- “why don’t you guys get out.” it’s a question, but it’s not really. it’s a statement, a demand. 

he steps forward, and they step back. 

“why does he want us to get out?” one of them says, and shit, he’s already forgotten which is which.

“i don’t know, ask him!”

“why don’t  _ you _ ask him?”

“i’m right here.” ajay says, a bored look on his face. what the actual fuck.

“oh, he’s right here. good for him. he knows where he is.” the feeling of  _ ‘what the actual fuck’  _ intensifies.

ajay steps forward again.

they make some worried sounds that don’t even sound like words, and start looking around, managing to say something about moving out. 

and then, out comes the worst little thing in ajay’s life, at that moment. a bong, and he already knows this isn’t going to go well. he refuses. they start talking about flesh (for some reason), and meeting and greeting with a ‘power broker’, as they put it. 

“and you’re the meat.” one says, and only then, at the worst time, does ajay notice the scar around his left eye. ajay wonders how he got it. he wonders this at the worst  _ possible _ time, because then there’s a needle in his shoulder, and oh no not again the world’s blurry and shaking and holy shit he can hear the creepy movie-style laughing of the dead twins from down the road oh no oh no oh no-- 

and he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

the next time he’s truly awake, even with the world still blurred at the edges, there’s a rope around each of his wrists, with women with pretty headdresses and without pretty shirts holding the other end.

there are pretty petals on the floor. red, like the rose. there’s a distant sound of chanting. he doesn’t like where this is going. he has heard the tales of the so-called arena, and he begs, pleads, prays to anyone.

the doors in front of him start to open, shining a light so bright ajay feels like he’s gonna go blind.

“people of kyrat!” a voice shouts, and the crowd quietens to listen. “who do you cheer for? the brave elephants, or the fierce tigers?”

ajay cheers for being locked in the comfort of his own room, hiding from people and sunlight and literally everything else that has ever even helped get him in this position. 

“or do you cheer for the terrorists?” the voice adds. it appears that ajay’s suspicions are correct. 

he’s tugged forward, unable to truly resist when his shoulder aches from the needle and his head hurts from  _ something _ . for once, he hopes it is on his soulmates end rather than his. right now, he can’t really tell. 

“we have son of the terrorist, mohan ghale, fugitive of the golden path, killer of innocent men, women, and children of kyrat-” the voice yells, and the crowd continues to go wild- “he abandoned his people to live in the decadence of america, but he returns, in chains, to face judgement.”

the announcer stalks over, snatching the rope from the other woman’s hand. 

“to face  _ your _ judgement, people of kyrat.”

only when he’s dragged forward even further, so close to that edge, does he get a chance to see the horrendous amounts of people lined up in the stadium, cheering their little hearts out as if this is the best thing they’ve seen all week. he hates it, being put forward for a show, like a slab of meat, completely bare of all the things that usually make him feel safe. 

everything is so strangely loud. ajay’s ears feel strangely numb.

there’s a quieter voice in his ear now, and ajay focuses on it, using it to ground himself and calm his nerves for what he knows is coming. “some people here believe you can make a difference, ajay-” he doesn’t even fucking care about his name being pronounced wrong- “this is the moment of truth.”

he blinks, unsure how to reply. a nod? an ‘oh yes thank you i’m probably going to die’? 

“look to your feet when you hit the arena.” she says. “look for a knife.”

a moment of silence between the two, as they stare at each other. she’s pretty, ajay notes, with a woven headdress blending into her dark hair, which almost resembles a bird’s black feathers. it looks soft, but now is not the time to touch. her lips are stained blood red, as if it were taken from the blood of her enemies, though ajay is certain it’s just makeup. her eyes, though, her eyes; they’re hooded and dark, barely able to be seen in the dark of the arena. they’re scared, or angry - it’s too fast for him to tell. but there’s a slither of a nose ring, and a touch of peaches (a calming scent before the chaos of the storm), so he does nod, he does just pray, and oh god that will have to be enough.

“if you do not survive-” she says, voice grave, and ajay can already feel the pressure on him rising- “there is no hope for you an i.”

he’s pushed into the arena, and lands with an aching back and an aching ass.

“let the betting begin!” he hears being cried, and he’s so certain he’s going to die.

 

* * *

 

he wins the fight with bullets embedded in his shoulder, his torso, his legs, and teeth marks and animal scratches licking at his thighs.

but he won. and he’ll take it. 

he’s regiven his clothes back, and throws them on as quickly as he can without disturbing his bandaged wounds. no one even bothers to turn an eye, and he feels more and more self-conscious by the minute. everything is quiet now as if everyone had left after the fight. there’s ringing in his ears, from the loud screaming, and there are goosebumps covering his arms, as if he only just realised how cold it was in here. 

the announcer - the name finally clicks:  _ noore _ , one of pagan min’s generals - steps forward once he’s finished changing. “walk with me.” she says, and her voice is gentle but harsh at the same time. ajay thinks she’s hard to read, and doesn’t like it at all. the only thing ajay seems to do, anymore, is not know what the hell is going on. 

“you- you tried to kill me!” he says, and he thinks he’s allowed to be angry. 

“and now, i’m not.”

“you know what? fuck you.” a very american reaction, he thinks to himself, but it is rightfully so.

“just listen, please-” and honestly, she really means it; there is a genuine plea right there, and ajay is so taken back by it that he doesn’t form a response in time. “paul has my family.”

ajay is speechless. it’s hard to imagine someone with such power, such authority, over such a large area of land would be caged down by blackmail. he nods for her to continue, and he’s sorry that he judged her so quickly, even if it was justified (he feels a little bad, just a little). 

“until i know they’re safe, i’m trapped here, doing whatever pagan wants me to do.”

“what does this have to do with me?”

“the golden path wants paul dead-” and she leans forward, almost a submissive gesture- “i need my family safe. we can help each other, ajay.”

“it’s ajay.” he corrects, emphasising the syllables. “ _ ah _ -jay.”

“we can help each other,  _ ajay _ .” she repeats, and starts to open the door to her room.

“how?” he asks. 

“i can get you into his stronghold,” she says, and ajay nods. it’s a plan because he has nothing better to do. “oh, and ajay? take it easy on yogi and reggie; they’re being played, just like you and i.”

both of them stare at each other for a second longer than necessary, a small nod between them; a moment of solidarity. ajay, albeit briefly, wonders when he became an instrument (he thinks about how he’s always been a tool that everyone else used to benefit themselves, always leaving him behind;  _ ‘hmm’, _ he thinks,  _ ‘where did i go wrong?’ _ ). 

 

* * *

 

he’s out of the arena, but it feels like he’s in a foreign skin. no one seems to recognise him as he steps out, thankfully, but he still imagines the looks crawling over his skin and peering eyes remembering things they shouldn’t. 

he hates it, but there’s nothing he can really do, so he climbs on his ATM and speeds away from the area as quick as he can. he can still hear the faint cheering ringing in his ears. everything feels strangely quiet, and it puts ajay on edge now. 

ajay looks at his map, the one with pencil markings telling him where to go with brief instructions and black marker circling vague areas of artefacts. he’s had someone tell him that they’ve seen a few journals laying around, so he heads to one of the areas. he’s bored - is bored the right word? - and a bit shook up, and even if it ends up not being mohan’s, he’ll take it for some light reading and an opportunity to learn more. 

when he arrives, he finds the area empty with the sound of the forest missing its song of the birds and the  _ clip!-clop! _ of pounding hooves. he hears a long roar and he realises why. he holds his gun just a little tighter.

the houses’ doors are left open, and the diary rests on the desk, a few blank stacks of paper on top of it, though no pen. he picks it up, puts it in his backpack, before getting back on his ATM and driving away. 

he thinks he’s is going to go to banapur, though the thought is distracted when sabal calls him, sending him coordinates to somewhere in the opposite direction, saying it’s not urgent but he’d like to see him. he adds that bhadra’s there when he hears the hint of reluctance, and ajay swerves the bike around and gets going.

when he arrives, it’s around seven o’clock, with the sun starting to set in the background, casting a weird glow over the land. everything in banapur village is as pretty as ajay remembered it — though there are a few new stalls that he checks out quickly — and everything smells nicer. when ajay looks for it, he finds no traces of blood splattered against the wall and he sighs a breath of something he’d call relief; he feels like he can finally allow himself to forget, with whatever twisted logic that is, and move on, and he hadn’t even realised that the memory was still plaguing him (who are we kidding - the memories always remain, just as strong as the scents and tastes and colours of Hell that you see along the way).

he wishes everyone he passes a good evening, accompanied with a bow of his head, and everyone returns it with a smile, thanking him in a passing glance or a few shy, mumbled words. everything is calm, peaceful, with the smell of a strange, foreign perfume floating through the air, the taste of alcohol in the back of his throat, and the bright pattern of the cloth that’s thrust in his face, blinding him. there’s a weight around his middle, with two arms wrapped tightly around him, with a faint cry of ‘ajay!’ muffled by his clothes.

“bhadra!” he laughs back, spinning around with her in his arms, laughing. he puts her down and sees her look up at him, the excitement visible in her eyes. her clothes are different from before and seem to be more for comfort rather than for work, but she still wears the bracelets. “i missed you.”

“of course you did. i’m a delight to be around.” she jokes, and ajay just nods. “how’s-” she seems hesitant to ask, taking a slight pause, as if to ready him for the question- “how’s travelling?” that’s the wording she seems to settle with, like anything more could push him over the edge. to be honest, he probably agrees with that.

“it’s okay,” ajay replies. he keeps it at that, doesn’t share the details; it’s not like he really wants to the whole of the village to know that he had to fight with his dick out, and will probably think about whenever he gets undressed for the rest of his life. “tiring.”

“a lot of people say that.”

“and a lot of people realise that there’s no time for rest, don’t they?” he asks, rhetorically, when he sees sabal approaching. “i assume that i’m going to be asked to do something, bhadra, so i’ll have to talk to you more later. after i sort this out, we’ll go somewhere together, right?”

she turns and sees sabal, and looks back at ajay with a sad look in her eye. “you don’t have to let him tell you what to do.” she says, but they both know that ajay can’t really say no, when it’s either saving people’s lives or helping out another brother.

he doesn’t reply, but he likes to think he conveyed his answer with the desperate look in his eye. he brings her in for a hug, the last one for a long while, and squeezes extra tight, to which she does the same.

“i’ll see you around, ajay.” she says, and he nods, voiceless, and ignores the prickling in his eyes and throat.

“ah, ajay.” sabal says, and bhadra quickly scurries away. “hello, brother.”

“hello.” ajay says. “what can i do for you?”

“you don’t have to do anything.”

“you just wanted to see me?”

“am i not allowed to check in-” suspicious. of course, no one ever asks to see him without wanting something- “i wanted to invite you somewhere, too. but you don’t have to come.”

“where are we going?”

“no, no-” sabal says, and raises his hands like he’s calming a raging animal. “i’m going, and inviting you. you’re under no obligation to come.”

strange.

“you mean-” ajay asks, brow raised- “that i can say no?”

“you can always say no.”

“not really.” ajay replies. “it doesn’t always feel like it.”

there’s a moment of silence, a lull in the conversation when both sides don’t know what to say; it’s not strictly awkward, but it’s vaguely uncomfortable, with ajay looking at the floor like he wishes he had said nothing, and sabal’s looking apologetic and a weird sort of sorrow. it’s a funny - funny? - sight.

“it’s a monastery. or  _ the _ monastery. religion is very… well, illegal in kyrat now. a lot of religious buildings and artefacts were destroyed by pagan.” sabal says. “you’ve met him, so you can probably imagine.”

ajay nods. “i can.”

“i thought you might to learn more about kyrat’s culture. you’ve been searching for your father’s diaries, and i knew him to be a very religious man.”

“thanks.” he replies, and he’s thinking now: what secrets would this reveal? “i’ll see whether i can check it out.” 

“did you know that your mother was the previous tarun matara?” sabal asks, and the look on ajay’s face says  _ ‘no what the fuck oh my god’ _ . “i think you’ll learn a lot from the visit. i’m going this friday, so two days from now. you can meet me here at four o’clock.”

“friday? wouldn’t it be on a sunday?”

“sunday is christianity’s day of worship.” sabal replies. “this friday is the day yalung was defeated. it falls on may the twenty-third this year. it’s always on the fourth friday of the month.”

with lack of words to say, ajay nods awkwardly, providing a small “nice”. he adds when sabal appears unsatisfied: “i’ll be there.”

“i’ll see you around, brother.”

“you too, sabal.”

it’s probably the nicest conversation he’s had with anyone in such a long time. how fucking sad.

 

* * *

 

_ ishwari and i fought again. _

_ we never used to act like this, but lately it seems like everything sets her off. she again brought up the issue of allowing women into the golden path and, -----, i put my foot down. the front lines are no place for them - let them work in our kitchens, hospitals, as drivers, or even carrying ---------. she insists a female --- could be combat-ready in as few as three months.  _

_ we need more fighters, but now is not the time for ------- ideas. _

 

it’s not anger mohan feels as he drops the pen from his shaking hands, hearing it click against the wooden floor. it’s sadness, or something close to it. he’s sad that he’s fighting with his soulmate (no he’s not he’s angry don’t let him fool you with his wise words and damaged act).

why had she complained? she should be happy she can help at all. she’s the tarun matara, and she knows this. women do not work with guns. it destroys their purity, especially one of the goddess incarnate. no, he will not let a lady work with a killing machine.

maybe this will become his downfall.

**Author's Note:**

> the series is currently on hiatus. it may start again in the future.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> [ajay](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/ajay-ghale-far-cry-4/)  
> [sabal](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/sabal-far-cry-4/)   
> [fic board](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/red-roses-fic/)  
> [far cry 4 playlist (youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_rSVvI_mwOym0wEfUhqfsNM835FDpp2j)  
> 


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